


Love and war

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Forbidden Love, Kinda, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 06:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16887348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: It is said, everything is fair in love and war.And one is not an obstacle for the other.





	Love and war

**Author's Note:**

> I really REALLY have no self control. In my defense though, this one is a one shot and it came to me after reading a particularly intense scene on a book I’m reading. I can’t help it, ideas come to me and I’m way too weak to resist them.  
> That being said… enjoy?

The situation is, of course, quite dire.

The city is under attack, the Castle is under siege, everyone is looking up at him for answers and Mycroft is… well, he must admit he’s at total loss.

There was a time, a lifetime ago, when making this type of difficult calls came to him as naturally as breathing. There was time when he used to command armies, coming up with strategies right on the spot, when the battle took a turn for the worst. He made a name for himself out there, at the battle field and part of the reason why they’ve been at peace for so long it’s because their enemies learned to fear him as the Crown Prince and so are terrified of crossing him as the King. His skills were legendary; his cunning, the stuff of stories and now-- now, when his people desperately needs him--

“Everybody out,” he orders solemnly and his Advisers and Generals hurry to obey him, although they do so reluctantly. Time is the essence, naturally, but they probably think he just needs some peace and quiet to come up with a plan.

He needs much more than that.

Finally it’s just him and his wife and the city map. Anthea sighs, rubbing her temples, fighting off an oncoming headache no doubt. On regular circumstances, Mycroft would defer to her when not knowing how to handle a situation, because Anthea is a born diplomat, a noble’s daughter through and through. She’s clever and a quick thinker and knows all the political and social stuff he has always struggled with. He’s more a soldier than a King, but thanks to her he has managed not to screw up too badly.

But now--

He turns his attention to the city map, telling himself to focus. He can’t afford to get distracted, he can’t afford to lose himself on the memories of his long lost past. He needs-- he needs--

The door opens and he turns around sharply, an angry protestation ready. “I said--” but the words die on his lips when he sees the person standing at the threshold and his heart (his treacherous,  _ treacherous  _ heart) skips a beat. “Oh,” he murmurs instead, anger and frustration and  _ fear _ leaving him all at once.

A soft touch on his elbow startles him, reminding him they’re not alone. Anthea offers him the saddest of smiles, but also the most understanding, nodding once before slipping out of the room as quietly as a ghost, just sending one quick look in the newcomer’s direction that’s full of something that Mycroft can’t quite interpret, closing the door softly after herself.

It’s a pity, Mycroft thinks. They’re really too well-suited for one another and yet--

“The city is under attack,” the newcomer says, bring him back to reality. His lips curve upwards however, amused by the dry delivery of the line.

“I’ve noticed,” he replies, shaking his head, telling himself now is not the time to focus on anything other than the upcoming battle. “I just-- I don’t know what to do.”

It’s always been so easy to admit his weakness to this man, to admit he’s not as infallible as everyone thinks. When people look at him, they see the self assured King, the one who’s not afraid of anything, the one who always knows what to do. Even Anthea does, to an extend; no one really sees the simple human being he is underneath.

Except the man standing in front of him, of course.

“Then we’ll think of something together, won’t we?” his companion says, a sad smile on his lips, eyes bright with unshed tears. He has come closer now, way into his personal space and it eases something within Mycroft, even if he can feel the guilt building in the back of his mind.

“As we always do,” he agrees, taking Gregory’s hand in his and pulling him even closer, sealing their lips together just as an incredulous chuckle threatens to escape them. 

It’s been so long.

And yet it feels like time hasn’t passed at all.

* * *

 

Planning, afterwards, becomes as easy as breathing. It always had, back on the days when they were fighting to stay alive. It has always been so easy coming up with solutions with Gregory standing by his side, giving his input, talking him out of any particular crazy ideas he came up with. Once upon a time, the world had feared Mycroft yes, but they had also feared his best General.

The General who is, of course, retired now. Hard not to, considering the rather nasty wound he got on their last battle, shielding Mycroft from what would have been a deadly blow. Tales of the grief the Prince showed after seeing his General fall are a favourite among the soldiers for some reason: maybe because they humanize the man they see so powerful and distant, maybe because they understand the pain of losing (or as the case was, nearly losing) one's heart at the battlefield.

The thing about Gregory, is that he’s always been a practical man, not prone to flights of fancy. The kind of man who knows an impossible cause when he sees it and feels no urge to pursue empty hopes. Such view extend well beyond the battlefield, of course and he had told Mycroft, right from the start, that their relationship would go nowhere and they had never lied to one another about what the future held for each one of them.

Mycroft was, after all, the Crown Prince. One day, he’d be King and he’d rule and he’d need heirs. And he was meant to marry a noble, someone who had been born in a Castle just as his, surrounded by luxury, just as himself.

And Gregory-- condecorated soldier as he might be, feared and talented General as he was regarded… well, he was still nothing but common folk.

So when the time had came-- when the war was over and their wounds had closed, they had said goodbye to each other, turned around and never looked back.

Except, of course, that wasn’t what happened at all.

Mycroft had tried. By the gods, how had he tried! And he can’t claim to be unhappy, he really isn’t. He loves his wife, yes, but theirs was more of a slow burn-- they learned to care for each other and trust each other, they listened and they compromised and they worked to build a good marriage, but he has never forgotten what love, the kind that burns you from inside out, the one that can drive you to utter madness or total bliss, feels like and to his great shame, he always  _ always  _ craved it. He has tried not to think, he has tried not to lose himself in the memories, but every inch of his mind and his heart and his body remember and no matter how good things are, no matter how well he and Anthea get along, it’ll never be the same.

“It’s a good plan,” Gregory says, startling him out of his quiet remembrance.

It is. “It’ll work,” he agrees, gazing at the other man longingly. They were reunited just an hour ago, surely it’s not time for them to part again? “I-- I should make sure everyone gets down to work.”

The other man nods thoughtfully. “The city will be safe once more, but the war is coming.”

Yes, he knows. And it’s important that he acts, it’s important that he acts quickly, his people are dying and yet-- and yet--

“Will you stay?” he asks, desperation dropping from his every word and his companion offers him a sad tired smile.

“I once told you, you’d always find me at your side as long as there’s a war going on. I intend to stand by that promise.”

Yes, but that’s not what Mycroft wants. Why must their time be limited to such unhappy, cruel,  _ deadly  _ times? “You know why,” Gregory says softly, seemingly having read his mind and Mycroft isn’t even surprised. He always knew him better than anyone else.

Mycroft nods, because he does, even if he finds it terribly unjust. Even if he wishes it was otherwise.

He turns on his heel, heading for the door, intending to have servant call the Generals and his Advisers back. He has a plan now and time is the essence. 

_ Later,  _ he thinks, throwing one last glance in his ex lover’s direction before opening the door.

Gregory is staying, after all.

At least for now.

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I love the idea and I needed to write it. It has potential to grow into a much longer, more full of angst and pining fic, but I’m not going to do that. No, sir. No more WIPs until I’m done with “I promise I won’t fall in love” and finish another one of my on-hiatus works (that’s not strictly true since I’m writing another long fic, but I’m stopping myself from posting it until it is complete, so...)  
> Anyway, let me know what you thought, pretty please?  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


End file.
